Race Tracks and Romances
by Goddess-of-da-Cheeseburgers
Summary: ArthaxMoordryd oneshots and drabbles...Because the world needs it.
1. First Impressions

Yes, I DID write this is the same day as "Of Ideals and Bedsprings" I was inspired...That was so much fun to write, plus my mother and I were talking about babies, which spawned this idea.

I usually despise little kids, but they have their cute moments...Like when my baby cousin throws stuff at me and then sits on my butt, his idea of cuddling. It's also cute when a little kid proudly shows off his "girlfriend" to all of his friends and they shriek something along the lines of "EEEEEWW! COOTIES!" Childhood romances are so sweet. Here's to ArthaxMoordryd puppy love!

I own nothing

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**First Impressions**

Gray eyes observed the race below him with rapt attention. This was the first time his father had brought him to a race in Sun City and it was fascinating. The dragons were faster and stronger, and the gear was sleeker and more powerful. Six-year-old Moordryd Paynn had never seen such an amazing sight in his life.

A pair of baby blues glanced down at the Elite Class race for a second, at his dad's insistence, before focusing back on the 8-bit racing game in his hands. Dragons were dragons and gear was gear, he'd seen enough of it all at his dad's stable. Six-year-old Artha Penn had never wanted to be at home playing with his baby brother more.

In an attempt to distract himself, Artha thought back on the people they had met today. A shockingly tall man with long white hair and cold steel eyes. The man had sneered and mutter "How nice to see you again, Conner" in a voice that made Artha think that he really wasn't happy to see his dad. After being shuffled off to the side when his father said that they were going to have an "Adult Conversation," Artha turned his glace to the munchkin beside the tall man.

She was cute, really, though she resembled her father down to the pale skin and the beginnings of a unibrow. Her gray eyes were softer than her father's, reminding Artha of dust bunnies rather than steel, and the white hair hung around her shoulders looked soft compared to the over-gelled mullet her father bore. The girl's face was round, as children's faces tend to be, but one could tell that her features would slim down until she was practically a clone of her father.

When the winner of the first race was announced and the riders prepared for the next race, Moordryd sat back in his seat. His father didn't ask if he was enjoying the race, Moordryd had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't care and only brought his son to make an appearance as the loving father. The white haired child glanced at his father, who was having a dull conversation with someone important, and thought back on the other boy he had met today.

Big blue eyes dominated most of his face, partially obscured by messy bangs. Childish pink lips pouted against a tanned face. Other than those astounding eyes, he was fairly plain. Moordryd had cocked his head when he caught the blue-eyed boy staring, and attempted the aloof glare his father maintained at all times when Blue Eyes (as Moordryd had dubbed him) smiled brightly at him.

Artha wasn't quite sure, but he thought that White Hair (as Artha had dubbed her) was trying to imitate an offended baby dragon. Pale lips curled into a sneer and gray eyes narrowed, Artha had seen wyrmlings look like that while they were still trying to establish a pecking order. He briefly wondered if she was trying to stare him down, and he accepted the challenge with a glare of his own.

Although vaguely surprised when Blue Eyes' grin turned abruptly into a glare, Moordryd didn't back down. He intensified his glare, though he felt as though he had failed some important test and earned the other boy's animosity.

When White Hair's glare doubled, Artha tried to look even more intimidating. Thus, a Glaring War started. Artha was only briefly aware of hid father tapping him on the shoulder and insisting that they should go if they wanted to get to the snack bar and back before the next race started. The next race didn't matter, the snack bar didn't matter. All that mattered was beating White Hair in the Glaring War. He would NEVER be beaten by a girl.

Word Paynn glanced at his son, mildly pleased to see that the boy had already taken a disliking to Penn's little brat. Moordryd was following in his footsteps nicely, glaring at little Penn while he exchanged carefully masked insults with his father. He called to his son and then turned and stalked away, Moordryd attempting to match his long stride.

As both children turn and walked away, they pondered over their meeting.

'Artha,' Moordryd mused, 'probably would have been nice to be friends with.'

'Moordryd,' Artha thought, 'Is a very silly name for a girl.'

---

Fin.

Yes, Artha did mistake Moordryd for a little girl. We all know that someone had to at one point, so deal with it.

Review! Reviews inspire me to write more and save money to finally buy my DS and/or Wii! THAT will certainly put me in a good enough mood to write more!

Also, should this continue? I mean, it was designed as a one-shot...But kids are actually easy to write, this could become some sort of kiddie adventure story...Like Rugrats, but slightly older and better in so many ways!


	2. Coffee and Toast

K, picture this: Moordryd in bunny slippers and a robe with coffee and toast. Don't ask how I came up with this image, I just did.

---

**Coffee and Toast**

Artha smirked as tip-toed down the hallway of his recently rebuilt home. Parm was visiting his mother, and Kitt and Lance were still asleep. It had been Moordryd's turn to sneak into Artha's room the night before, and the white haired teen was nowhere to be found when Artha woke up.

However, the raven-head had a sneaking suspicion of where his partner was.

Flattening himself up against the wall, Artha poked his head around the doorframe. Sure enough, Moordryd was shuffling his bunny-encased feet (he had nicked Artha's slippers) in front of the coffee machine. Taking great care not to make a sound, Artha slid up behind Moordryd and wrapped his arms around the half-asleep teen's waist.

The recipient of this embrace grunted noncommittally before taking a big bite of the toast in his hand, his eyes never leaving the coffee machine. Artha's grin widened, realizing that he had caught Moordryd before his first cup of coffee for the day. The first of many. While Artha was never into that "Early bird gets the worm" stuff, he could still wake up and be lucid within a few moments. Moordryd, on the other hand, required an unhealthy amount of caffeine in his system before he was even barely functional. Even during the day, he could be caught nursing a grande marble mocha macchiato at any given Dragbucks.

Before his first cup of coffee, though, Moordryd was either easy to piss off, or easy to cuddle.

Artha decided to take his chances, and caught his lover's limp wrist, bringing it up to take a bite out of the barely toasted bread in his hand. He smiled innocently as Moordryd shot him a death glare, gray eyes barely registering who he was glaring at. After a few seconds of processing that grin, Moordryd realized that it was Artha that dared steal his toast, so he did the first thing that came to mind.

He shoved the half-eaten, butter smeared slab of warm bread into his lover's forehead. A sadistic grin creeped onto his face as Artha squawked in surprise, and he reached out for the now finished coffee.

---

Fin.

Moordryd's morning personality was based completely on me. I eat my toast barely toasted, I stand and stare at the coffee maker until it's done. You bother me, you get something that barely qualifies as toast shoved in your face.

Dragbucks was based completely on Starbucks, which I do not own. The Marble Mocha Macchiato (property of Starbucks) is my favorite drink.

Moordryd's bunny slippers are property of Artha. I assume they were a gag gift from Lance that actually came in handy.

R&R, if you would be so kind.


	3. Midnight Rendezvous

...Moordryd looks WAY too much like Word for comfort, and a citadel is a hard place to navigate at night...Especially if you're not used to it.

I still own nothing.

---

**Midnight ****Rendezvous**

Silently, Artha congratulated himself. Getting through the Sun City borders without a pass was no easy task. Sneaking into Word's citadel was even tougher. The teen thought it was terribly romantic that he was willing to go through so much to be with Moordryd.

Artha frowned, peeking into a room to get his bearings. Pleased to see a room that looked familiar, he eagerly planned his next move, 'Now, let's see...The last time Moordryd snuck me in, we took a...Left at the computer room. I think...' Artha darted down the left hallway, completely ignorant to the fact that there were at least seven "computer rooms" in the citadel.

After twenty minutes of creeping around, Artha wondered if maybe he should backtrack to the computer room and take a right instead. When he glanced in another doorway and found the room he took a left at (or so he thought), Artha was sure he'd gone in a circle and decided to take the right he had just decided on earlier. This brought him to a whole new section of hallways that looked vaguely familiar.

Marching on assuredly, Artha found the door to Moordryd's room. The door slid open after Artha punched in the override code for the locks, and the raven-haired trespasser tip-toed forward. Moordryd was laying with his back to the door.

Perfect.

Sneaking up, Artha slid between too-cold covers and wrapped an arm around Moordryd's lithe frame. When the figure under the sheets stiffened, Artha only pulled him closer. With his other hand, Artha played with his boyfriend's white hair before shifting the mane aside and placing a chaste kiss to the back of Moordryd's neck.

---

Word Paynn had been in strange situations before, but none so strange as this. A monitor near his bed had beeped over half and hour prior to inform him that there was someone in the citadel that shouldn't be there. A few more beeps notified him that this someone was coming closer. Soon, the intruder was right outside his door. The older Paynn pretended to be asleep, even going as far as to draw out his breaths into the deep, even breathing of a sleeping person, to lull the intruder into a false sense of security. He contemplated what the purpose for this prowler's visit could be:

Assassination

Theft

Kidnapping

Word did not like what he came up with. Still appearing relaxed as the door opened and the intruder stepped in, Word wondered who it was. His train of thought stopped abruptly and he tensed as he felt someone slide into bed next to him and draw him close. Word's back stiffened even more when he felt the person toying with his hair.

When the intruder had the _gall_ to press a kiss to the back of his neck, Word flung himself away. He landed on the floor, still partially tangled in sheets.

In Word's mind, there were only two reasons why a man was permitted to scream like a little girl. One was when there was a hungry Wraith staring you down. The other was when there was a stranger in your bed molesting you. Since this situation fell under the second category, Word felt no shame in letting out a high-pitched shriek.

---

Artha wasn't quite sure what happened. One moment, he was kissing Moordryd's neck, the next, Word Paynn was on the floor screaming at him. Then, things clicked and Artha screamed as well.

Disgusted, he staggered out of Word Paynn's room and ran down the hallways, earlier discretion forgotten as he hurriedly rubbed his lips off on the back of his hand. Upon hearing the sounds of Wraiths hunting him down (no doubt called by Word after Artha had run out of the room), he did the first thing that came to mind.

In retrospect, diving into a closet full of towels, toilet paper, and spare bedding is not the smartest thing to do when being chased by mind-controlled dragons. Artha swore that, in the future, he would always going with the _second_ thing that came to mind, even if it was jumping out of a window that was about 15 stories above the ground.

This closet had no doorknob on the inside.

---

Moordryd smirked as he opened the linen closet door to find a fitfully dozing Artha. It had taken the Dragon Eyes leader all his willpower to keep from bursting out into peals of wicked laughter as a flustered Word had described his encounter with the late-night intruder. Those were actions typical of Artha, so the white-haired teen had assumed that his lover had gotten lost and stumbled in on the wrong room.

Leaning against the doorframe, Moordryd nudged Artha with his toe. As the darker haired teen jolted awake, the lighter haired one took a sip of his coffee.

"So, Penn...I heard my father _really _made you scream last night."

---

Fin.

It's taking all _my_ willpower not to burst out into a fit of giggles at this! C'moooon, we all KNOW Artha would be dense enough to take a wrong turn and end up snuggling with Word. As for how the Wraiths missed him in the closet...Uh...Aha! Moordryd has his maids use a lot of fabric softener when they wash his sheets! Artha's scent was smothered by the scent of Downy!

R&R, my lovelies!


	4. Simple Pleasures Moordryd

...I'm posting this in the same night since I have a big summer report to work on tomorrow. I won't be able to concentrate unless I churn it out right now. Oh, and the rating has been upped a bit since this chapter is a bit more suggestive.

Still in possession of…NOTHING! HAHA!

---

**Simple Pleasures - Moordryd**

Kitt had once commented that Artha made pissing Moordryd Paynn off a sport. Parm had stated he'd found enough ways of aggravating the younger Paynn to fill a book.

Personally, Artha figured that he had found more ways of making his lover _squirm_. If pissing Moordryd off was a sport, pleasing him was an art form, and if he could fill a book with ways to make him angry, he could fill a library with methods of making him moan in pleasure.

Like now, for example. Moordryd was ticklish beyond belief and Artha found great amusement in trailing his fingers up and down pale sides until Moordryd was breathless with laughter. Artha traced his finger slowly over the contours of his lovers chest before sliding them up to his chin to tilt his face in for a kiss.

A kiss that Moordryd accepted and returned with fervor.

Another simple action that made Moordryd happy was brushing his hair. The first time Artha had asked if he could brush his lover's hair, Moordryd had actually blushed. Though he was hesitant at first, Moordryd handed the brush over to Artha and sat between his lover's legs. Within a few minutes of brushing, Moordryd had dozed and fallen back on Artha.

Moordryd had a great appreciation of hot showers, even more so when Artha joined him, and made a point of completely draining the hot water tank whenever he had the chance. Thee feeling of hot water beating on his skin and the steam around him was the most relaxing feeling in the world. Even better was the feeling of hot water dripping off Artha's skin and onto his while the steam mixed with Artha's warm breaths.

Moordryd's love of coffee was common knowledge, but Artha's coffee-flavored kisses ranked higher in his mind than Dragbucks. Morning when they could sit silently, sipping their morning pick-me-ups and eating a small breakfasts also pleased Moordryd.

Most of all, Moordryd liked being in Artha's arms. Whether it was in the throes of passion when he would cling to Artha in a bruising grip, or a simple cuddle when he'd rest his cheek against his lover's chest. Artha was always willing to gather the young Paynn's svelte form into his arms.

Moordryd Paynn was rather easy to please.

---

Fin.

Dude...I used the term "thoes of passion." I once swore that I would only ever use that in a joking context...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! XD Sooooo not like me to use a cheesey term like that...ever.

...Moving on...Ever fallen asleep in the hairdresser's chair? I have. Luckily, my hairdresser is a family friend...So it wasn't TOO embarrassing.

Hn, compared to last chapter, this is really serious...Ah well, it's ok. Oh, and if you haven't gotten this by now, Artha's on top peeps.

Also, is it just me, or are thses things getting shorter? O.o


	5. Simple Pleasures Artha

Ah...Artha. I don't think he's _nearly _as interesting to dissect as Moordryd, but I'm obligated to do so anyway. So, without further ado, here's part 2 to "Simple Pleasures"!

(I own nothing)

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**Simple Pleasures – Artha**

When Cain had said that the stable brat was too arrogant, Moordryd could only agree. His lover bragged about anything and everything, pausing only to breathe every now and then.

But bragging was something that made Artha happy, so Moordryd tolerated it. He could usually sit and read a magazine or something until Artha stopped talking. Sometimes, the blue-eyed boy would take a break from his boasting and catch a sight of his lover's disinterested posture. That's when he gave Moordryd the kicked puppy look.

Moordryd couldn't resist the kicked puppy look. He would sigh, guilt and annoyance heavy on that exhaled breath, and would put down his magazine to pay notice to Artha. Artha simply loved the attention.

More than random attention, Artha loved Moordryd's attention. So much, in fact, that he went to great lengths to obtain that attention. Stealing Moordryd's coffee, launching a "sneaky ninja attack" on him, goosing him, nothing was below Artha when it came to catching Moordryd's eye. Although Artha's bolder attempts usually ended with a black eye or something unpleasant shoved up his nasal cavity, Moordryd knew his lover meant well.

Sometimes, Artha's bolder attempts resulted in an amused smirk from his lover and then a kiss for his troubles. Oftentimes a kiss resulted in Moordryd on his back on the nearest horizontal surface, moaning and enjoying himself immensely. Artha liked to see Moordryd like this, he liked to hear the usually disdainful voice groaning his name in pleasure. Artha liked sex.

As incorrigible as Artha's sex drive was, he knew when Moordryd wanted to be screwed and when he wanted to be cuddled. Artha loved to hold the slim teen in his arms, loved to have a pale cheek pressed against his chest and feel slim arms wrap loosely around his neck.

Artha Penn was fairly easy to please.

---

Fin.

LYKE ZOMGZ! I MENTIONED SEX?

Yeeeeeah. Artha's sixteen, people. Cut him some slack. Moordryd's more eager to cuddle because cuddling doesn't leave him with a sore bum.

Somehow, this is just…the worst one I've written thus far and I refuse to acknowledge it's existence after I post it. AND THESE THINGS ARE STILL TOO FRIGGIN' SHORT! My brain just refused to write anything longer!

Anyway, Artha was harder to write and much less fun. So to make this more fun (because if it isn't fun, I walk away from it), I wrote…AN OMAKE! Wooo! Hurray!

---

OMAKE: Bath Time!

Wyldfyr had let out a pleased rumble, Cyrano had consented without a fight, Beau had taken a little bribing, and Fracshun had to be tranquilized. However, all was well and the dragons were ready to be bathed. Kitt was scrubbing carefully around the magma-class' horns when Beau roared in displeasure.

Instead of checking for scale rot, filing his nails, cleaning his teeth, and lathering him up with the special dragon shampoo, Artha had simply blasted Beau with the hose.

Lance burst out into a fit of laughter, but that was cut short as mud was kicked into his face. Parm chuckled quietly and ducked the glop of mud heading in his direction, then resumed polishing Cyrano's scales. Wyldfyr snorted, having no intention of getting dirty so soon after her bath, and shuffled away with Kitt to a part of the yard where mud didn't fly.

Meanwhile, Beau had somehow wrestled the hose away from Artha and punctured several holes in it in the process. Tugging at the green hose in Beau's mouth was pointless, but Artha still tried. Pointing the rubber pipe in Artha's general direction and shaking his head, Beau managed to drench his rider. Then, he splattered mud all over him.

Artha had merely laughed good-naturedly and tugged off his shirt, asking Parm to hose him off with a different hose. Afterwards, he began to scour away at Beau's scales properly, still shirtless.

Up on a building overlooking the ruined stables, Moordryd focused his binoculars.

He loved bathing day at the Penn stables.

OMAKE: End.


	6. Sneak Preview!

Hmm...What to write about? I started this thing with a vague idea and figured I'd come up with stuff as I went along...To whoever it is that reads this thing, you know who you are and I adore you very much, send in ideas! I love getting ideas from other people! It's buckets of fun to take their thoughts and twist them into something grotesque, but still somehow likeable!

Ah! And idea strikes! ...And it gave me a black eye in the process!

I own nothing

---

**Sneak Preview – Obedience School**

I, Artha Penn, slouched into the local Dragsmart, the pet carrier in my left hand jostling periodically as Beaucephalis rammed against the sides in an effort to escape. Why my father had _insisted _on me choosing the dragon with the attitude problem, I'll never know. Dad had told me that spending time with Beau and bonding with him would settle the fiery dragon down, but my mutilated shoes, chewed-up video game controllers, _marinated _carpet, and missing stash of candy bars begged to differ.

Although that last one could have been Lance's fault.

Still, the point was that Beau was a vicious little thing that would sooner bite my hand off than actually act tame around me. I continued to shuffle to the back of the pet store, towards the obedience training area. Spotting an employee, a tall girl with white hair, after admiring her ass for a few moments, I tapped her on the shoulder.

"S'cuse me, where do I apply for the obedience classes?"

The girl turned (flat as a board, what a shame) and gave me a sharp look...Like a complete and total You-Waste-All-The-Good-Air-Around-Here death glare. She pointed up and to the left towards a sign that read "Obedience Training Registration" in bold red letters. I grinned sheepishly and said, "Oh, heh, sorry. Thanks." before making my way over to the nearby table.

The dark-skinned guy at the table didn't even look up as I placed the thrashing carrier on the table. He turned a page in his magazine and shoved a piece of paper at me, "Your name, dragon's name, address, phone number, e-mail address, and method of payment. Here's a pen." I filled out the required information, sneaking casual glances at the white-haired chick restocking the nearby shelves. I guess the registration guy must have noticed, because he looked up at the girl and smirked, "Hey, Moordryd. Number twenty-three!"

Moordryd turned and glared at the guy, then at me. Registration Guy (whose nametag read "Cain") turned back to his magazine, "Told ya you shouldn't wear those tight pants, man. Now you own me forty dracals!"

I looked from Moordryd, to Cain, to Moordryd's pants, then to the carrier when Beau decided to let out a loud wail of despair. I was surprised to hear a very male voice snarl out, "Dammit Cain! Cut that out!"

**End Sneak Preview**

---

...Ok, ok. So I have a sick fascination with Artha mistaking Moordryd for a girl. It's funny to me, so deal with it!

So, Moordryd and the rest of the Dragon Eyes crew (Cain and Rancyd or whatever his name is are the only other ones named...) are the staff at the local Dragsmart, which is owned by Paynn Inc. Conner is a dragon breeder, as in the show, and Tyrannis Pax is his dragon.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE! Dragons are roughly the size of various dogs! Currently, Beau is the size of a golden retriever puppy (because those are the best dogs in the world), but he'll grow up to be the size of an adult golden. BIG dragons like Pax and Abandonn will probably end up as a bit bigger than Great Danes. Bull and Earth classes will be about the size or large bulldogs. Smaller ones like Scavenger-class dragons (eh, though I'm not sure what they look like) will be about the size of terriers or something...I'll think up the rest as I go along.

This was written after watching Hellboy ("THERE'S A SQUID MONSTER IN THE MOON!") and old episodes of Pokemon! Haha, my friend and I were talking about our favorite parts of the show and the game and why we still liked Pokemon ("I LIKED HOW THEY LEFT THE SEIZURE EPISODE OUT OF THE AMERICAN VERSION!").

**TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS!**

I already want to write this a lot, but I'd also like to have a **BETA** because this would really be my first Dragon Booster fic that wasn't just for fun and a reason to stay up past midnight! Those annoying crickets and cicadas already try their hardest to stop me from sleeping...

So...**R&R** and tell me two things:

1) **IS THIS FIC A GOOD IDEA?**

2) **WILL YOU BE MY BETA?**


	7. Out of the Closet and Into the Fire

Yay! I'm so happy! Today was great! I found my diamond earrings and dodged a death by grounding, found a gift card to the local mall with $25, and put in my application for umpiring youth softball...TO EARN MONEY! Whoo-Hoo!

Oh! Can't forget this: darling Yin.Yang.Sisters has offered to be my beta for "Obedience School"!

Ah, I've been wanting to write that for forever! I won't scrap this one _entirely _for OS, but I'll probably work on that more. RaR shall live on, fear not my lovelies (as few and far between as you may be)!

NOW ON WITH THE SHOW! (Er...Fic)

(I own nothing)

---

**Out of the Closet and Into the Fire**

"Artha? Hey, Artha?" Kitt poked her head into the kitchen, intent on finding the young hero. The kitchen was empty, so Kitt continued her quest. She had already checked the temple, stables, Artha' room, the gear shed, and, as you know, the kitchen. No sign of him. Kitt rubbed lightly at the back of her neck before continuing on to the living room, that was the last place he could be

Kitt glanced around and spotted the Artha's head above the couch and cheered, "There you are!" Artha turned to look at her and grinned in greeting.

"Hey, Artha, why's Paynn's dragon outside?" A simple question sent Artha's face into a whirlwind of expressions. Surprise, panic, guilt, thinking, a glance to his lower left, and then more panic. All in less than five seconds.

"Wha-what? Seriously? Paynn must be trying to steal Beau for...Something! Yeah, I'll got out and stop hi-" Artha was cut off abruptly as a pale hand clamped itself over his mouth and another gripped the back of the couch. Moordryd slowly pushed himself up from where he had been laying against Artha's thigh. Turning a sleepy glare on a gaping Kitt, he sneered.

"Why's Paynn's dragon here? Because Paynn is here! Deal with it, spunky!" He plopped back down on Artha's lap and watched the movie (something about hating someone and the number ten), a whole lot less content than he was before.

Artha cast an apologetic look to Kitt, and then began smoothing out Moordryd's hair. It was rather like trying to calm an aggravated cat, but a whole lot more dangerous. At least most cats reverted to a cute and cuddly state after a few minutes of petting, but Moordryd could hold a grudge for weeks, and a grudge meant no sex for Artha. Which was a bad thing, by the way.

Bewildered, Kitt stepped forward and leaned over the couch. Sure enough, Moordryd's head was resting on Artha's lap and Artha was running a hand through his hair. If it wasn't such a bizarre scene, she probably would have thought it was cute. However, it was a bizarre scene, and therefore not cute. She tugged at Artha' short hair and muttered, "Can we talk for a minute?"

The victim of the hair-pulling winced as the hand Moordryd had resting on his knee tightened. Artha sighed in defeat, stopping Moordryd when he was in _a mood_ was like trying to stop a stampede, or a fire, or Parm's scientific rambles. He put on a weak smile as his lover pushed himself up into a sitting position and pounded the pause button mercilessly (interesting scene to pause at...A girl was throwing up on some guy's shoes!).

Gray eyes flashed violently, and Artha cringed as Moordryd's voice came out slowly and slightly strained, "Anything you want to say to Penn, you can say in front of me. Say it now, say it fast, because I'm sure as hell not giving up my pillow for more than 20 seconds."

For the first time in her life, Kitt truly was afraid of Moordryd Paynn. She threw her hands up as a peace gesture and chuckled nervously, "Heh, uh...Sorry! It can wait, really!" She darted out of the room faster than Wyldfyr could ever manage.

Moordryd smirked as he lowered himself back down onto Artha's lap and sighed contentedly as Artha resumed stroking his hair. He pressed the play button, the lovely sounds of someone hurling up alcohol-dominated stomach contacts greeting his ears before he began to drift off to sleep again. Artha sighed as well, rubbing lightly at the other teen's shoulder, "You've got to teach me how to do that..."

More asleep than awake, Moordryd smiled, "Sorry...Family secret..."

---

Fin.

Yeah, they're watching "10 Things I Hate About You." Good movie, though a bit on the chick-flicky side...Based off of Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew," for those of you that didn't know.

That movie is one of the main inspirations for OS, I like it that much.

Written after watching more Pokemon...Yeah, it's on Boomerang now, that channel for really old cartoons, I've yet to see Jabberjaw on there, though. This makes me sad.

Anyway, R&R, and expect the prologue of "Obedience School" soon!


	8. Sympathy Blubber

Mmm, sorry peeps. Homegirl just needed a little downtime.

Waiting patiently (well, maybe not) for my beta to send back the prologue for OS. _If you're reading this, I need you to know that I cut and pasted it into the e-mail and then deleted the sent e-mail to save space. I don't have it on my computer anymore. Send it back…please._

Agh, typing during the day for once...And what's that sound? Children...playing? I thought they had forgotten to how to do that when the X-box came out! Not to mention the child molester that lives near my house...Ah well, ON WITH THE SHOW!

I own nothing.

---

**Sympathy Blubber**

Artha was nervous. Why, you may ask? Because Cain had come by earlier with a letter from Moordryd. The fact that Moordryd had taken the time to _write_ a letter was not nearly as frightening as the fact that he had sent _Cain _to deliver it. Both Artha and Moordryd knew that the Dragon Eyes second-in-command was fiercely jealous of their relationship. Moordryd must have scared Cain shitless to get him to deliver the letter without tampering with it.

Unsigned as it was, at least Artha was sure no one had messed with it. The Dragon Eyes seal on the back was unbroken, and inside the envelope was a (VERY) short letter with Moordryd's spidery script. The note also contained Moordryd's characteristic bluntness.

_'Meet me at our old place, we need to talk. Don't wuss out on me, Stable Brat.'_

It was simple, it made sense, and it was written so that only Moordryd Artha would know where to meet. So here Artha was, sitting on that damn mattress. It seemed as though the springs missed him and were trying to make up for lost time. The dark-haired teen had never realized how uncomfortable his bed was until he and Moordryd had abandoned it in favor of sneaking to each other's rooms. He detached another spring from his backside and sighed.

Beau was waiting patiently outside, a great deal calmer than his rider. This was nothing new to him, he and Decepshun had kept watch while their respective riders were off...Doing whatever it is that two mated humans do together. There were times when both dragons could smell their humans' arousal, but then there were times when they could barely hear then boys whispering sweet nothings to each other. After a while, the teens had given up on meeting here, so had been a little surprised when Artha pulled up near the rundown old shack.

Which brought them to now. Hearing the distinct sound of a dragon galloping off in the distance, Beau looked up. A dust cloud rose around the slim form of Decepshun and her equally thin rider. The red and blue dragon made an almost-purr sound of greeting when Moordryd pulled up. The white haired rider discarded his jacket and helmet on his dragons saddle, and patted her nose lovingly. He let a hand trail gently over Beau's eye, a simple, yet kind caress, and continued inside as if in a daze. Decepshun purred as well, and settled down next to Beau, laying her head against his.

Artha jumped to his feet as soon as Moordryd entered. In a few steps he crossed the whole room and embraced the Dragon Eyes leader. Pulling back, he held Moordryd at arms length.

"Moordryd, what's wrong? You're...Paler than usual. What do we need to talk about?" Moordryd's head was tilted down, and un-gelled white hair hung in his face and shielded his eyes. Artha took this moment to stare at his lover. Pale hands fidgeted nervously, downcast gray eyes shifted tensely. His white hair (which Artha found incredibly sexy now that it was free of its chemical restraints), was unkempt, and, as mentioned before, gel-less. Moordryd whole posture was rigid and he seemed ready to run.

Finally, he spoke, "A-Artha..." (Moordryd never stuttered!) "Listen, there's something important...I...Uh..."

While Moordryd hemmed and hawed uncharacteristically, Artha panicked. The "What If"s were on parade.

_'What if Moordryd's breaking up with me? What if he's found someone better? What if he's dating Cain? What if someone raped him?'_

These thoughts continued for a moment until Moordryd shattered them with a sudden outburst.

"I THINK I'M PREGNANT!"

There was a moment of silence in which Artha recovered from being blasted back by the sheer volume of his lover's voice. Righting himself, Artha placed his hands on Moordryd's shoulders again. Laughing at Moordryd would only incur his wrath...And that was scary. Stuttering and not believing him would also incur that wrath and, therefore, was a bad idea as well.

So he spoke calmly and slowly, a cross between speaking to an angry dragon and speaking to a particularly stupid four-year-old, "Moordryd...Why do you think that...?"

Unexpectedly, Moordryd threw himself into Artha's arms, _almost_ sobbing, "B-Because! I...I've been eating weird, throwing up, an-and...Putting on weight!"

Artha pulled back and examined Moordryd's stomach. He trailed a hand down to push at the normally hard abs, indeed there was a slight squish before his fingers felt the resistance of muscle. Not enough to assume pregnancy by Artha's standards, but still there. He sighed and sat down on the floor, pulling the _almost_ tearful Moordryd down to sit in his lap.

"Moordryd...Guy's don't normally get pregnant. In fact, I don't think a man ever has. As for the weird food and puking...Has Rancyd been cooking again?" Moordryd nodded and tucked his head under Artha's chin, "I rest my case. Rancyd has been cooking weird food for you and you may have been allergic to one of the ingredients." Moordryd looked up and stared seriously into his lover's eyes, all traces of _almost _tears gone.

"How do you explain the weight gain? If I was just puking, I'd be _losing_ weight." Artha nodded, recalling "The Talk" his mother had given him when he was six and she was pregnant with Lance.

If Artha remembered correctly, his mother had been fairly muscular. Her stomach hadn't even began to bulge until she was many months into the pregnancy. She had cheerfully told him all about pregnancy, from puking her guts out and pissing like a race dragon to mood swings and odd cravings.

Poor Artha had been scarred for life.

However, now his mother's over-cheerful explanation of "how babies are made and how they come into the world" came to mind. Artha had never thought something so disturbing could be useful.

Just as he was about to explain to Moordryd that a baby wouldn't show through such a hard layer of muscle until it was bigger, Beau roared from outside. The lovebirds on the floor glanced at each other in surprise and then struggled up and darted outside.

Expecting the worst, Moordryd pulled out his whip and Artha pulled out his blocking staff. They had never been discovered before, but they could easily use the excuse that they were fighting.

Instead, they saw an overjoyed Beau nuzzling an almost _bashful_ looking Decepshun. Artha tilted his head, there was something familiar about this scene.

"Oh! I get it!" Artha grinned and stepped forward an took Decepshun's head in his hands, examining her eyes closely and then moving around the back towards her tail.

Moordryd was nonplussed. Beau had roared, which would have been a warning sign on normal terms. However, there was nobody out there and Artha was staring intently the black dragon's rear end. Moordryd tilted his head to the side as Artha moved again, this time crouching near 'Cepshun's stomach.

"Hey, Fatty! C'mere!" Moordryd bristled at the nickname, but squatted next to Artha.

Artha's grin was wide and almost ornery, "I think I figured it out." He patted Decepshun's stomach, "That's sympathy blubber, love, you're not the pregnant one!"

Behind them, Decepshun touched noses with her mate.

---

Fin.

Yeah, there's a shameless plug to "Of Ideals and Bedsprings" in there...If you haven't read it already, please do! Leave a review while you're at it!

Written while reading an FMA mpreg fic. Heehee, leave it to Moordryd to panic and think he's preggo just because Rancyd can't cook and he's gaining weight. Yup, Moordryd knew in his subconscious that Decepshun was going to be a mommy. Thus the sympathy blubber.

In case you were wondering, there's a reason I have babies on the brain: one of my cousins just had a baby, and two more from the other side of the family are pregnant as well. One's due in September, the other in March or something...

Moving on: I realized that I didn't have much character interaction between anybody BUT Moordryd and Artha...The fact that I didn't have interaction between the dragons was sad. Sooooo...That's when this piece was born. I point and flail at the BeauCepshun-ness of it all!

Yeah, Artha's mom was perky about everything in my mind, even having a living thing larger than a football force it's way out of her vagina. Since she's dead and/or missing, along with Zulay, it's easy to make stuff up about them. I bet they're off having a Tupperware party somewhere. Although Sentris DOES resemble Moordryd and MAY actually be Zulay in disguise...Meh, whatever. She's invited to the Tupperware party too.

R&R and laugh at the silliness of unrealistic mpreg!


	9. Cough Medicine

Ragweed season is upon us, my darlings, and you know what that means.

What? You don't? Really? Huh, well...It means my allergies are acting up and my immune system is down. Soooo...I have a summer cold. This, in turn, reflects on my writing!

SO SUFFER, ARTHA, SUFFER! HAHAHAHA!

I own my cold, which I have named Bernice. I also own Artha's cold, who has been named Pierre. Not much else, though.

---

**Cough Medicine**

Artha sneezed for the 637th time in three days. He had counted. This was one of the worse experiences of his life! His nose was stuffy and running at the same time, his eyes watered, his whole body ached, he had a pounding headache, and his throat hurt and that pain doubled every time he coughed. There was nothing on tv and there was no one there to entertain him.

Sure, Conner checked up on him from time to time, and Lance had run around in a mysteriously obtained hazmat suit for a while (until Artha had thrown a wastebasket of snotty tissues at him and demanded he left). But both father and brother to our ailing hero had warned Kitt and Parm away, Conner because he didn't want them sick as well and Lance because Artha was being a grouch.

So here he was: alone with Jerry Springer reruns ("You transvestite -BEEP- get away from my man!"). Artha groped blindly for the tissue box and blew his nose again, depositing the lotion and snot-drenched scrap of paper into a rapidly filling wastebasket. Those stupid lotion-tissues didn't work anyway, and they just left his nose feeling gross and oily! Why had his father paid the extra money for them again?

Heaving a sigh, Artha curled deeper into the blanket around his shoulders and hugged a couch pillow to his chest. He wanted to sleep, but every time he laid down, his nose would just clog up and make him feel even more miserable. The dark-haired teen sighed again, thinking of strangling himself with the remaining tissues just to end his own misery. Making a noose out of flimsy paper was risky, but worth it.

Just as Artha reached for the box, a sharp pain struck him in the back of the head. Rubbing weakly at the spot he grabbed the source of his pain and stared at it. A box of strawberry cold medicine? A slow, condescending drawl came from behind him, "Well? Are you going to take it or not?" Artha turned to face the speaker only to see the tall figure of Moordryd Paynn stride into the kitchen.

He returned a few minutes later with a tray holding a bottle of water, a bowl of rice and some toast. Chicken soup be damned, _this _was good for a sick person. Plus, it didn't smell as bad if it made a second appearance. Noting that Artha was still staring dumbly at the cold medicine, Moordryd frowned.

"What, do you want grape or something?" Artha shook his head and proceeded to tear open the box and remove the bottle of bright pink liquid. Moordryd set the tray down on the coffee table and snagged the bottle from Artha's fingers after watching him struggle pathetically with the plastic seal for a few moments.

The white-haired teen poured the correct amount into the little cup and handed it to Artha, who took it with a grateful smile. Moordryd's frowned deepened, "Don't tell me that your buddies haven't thought of actually giving you cold medicine..." Artha looked up after swallowing the fake-strawberry flavored syrup.

"Okay, I won't tell you." He sat up a little straighter as Moordryd set the tray on his lap and instructed him to eat it and not throw it up later. As Artha began eating, Moordryd reluctantly picked up the small garbage can and emptied it out in the kitchen trashcan. He washed his hands before returning to the living room with the wastebasket and a fresh box of tissues.

Moordryd placed these offerings near the sick teen and then retreated to the far end of the couch to lean on the arm. They said nothing, and Moordryd took the tray from Artha once he finished eating and deposited it in the sink. Artha yawned and settled in his cocoon of blankets and pillows as the medicine finally took effect.

Moordryd muttered something incoherent and the ill one let out a sleepy "Huh?" Averting his gaze and leaning against the doorframe, Moordryd spoke a little louder, "I said: If you need anything else, call me."

Artha nodded drowsily and snuggled deeper into the couch and mumbled, "'Kay...Thanks babe."

Moordryd nodded and walked out the door, narrowly dodging Conner Penn as he went to check up on his son.

---

Fin.

I'm delirious from this fever and my cold medicine tastes like crap. So I torture Artha to make myself feel better. Originally, it was going to be Moordryd that was sick and bitchy, but Moordryd's always bitchy. So I made Artha the sick one.

A cold always feels much worse than it really is...But that doesn't stop me (or Artha) from feeling miserable. Whatever brand of cold medicine that was...I want some.

After Artha became the sick one, this was originally supposed to have something kinky about "Nurse Moordryd" in there. However, my sick mind and my sick body couldn't come to an agreement and my fingers kicked my brain out and started to do all the work themselves. This fic is expressing my inner desire for some TLC instead of being stuck home alone with a box of crappy lotion tissues, a half-finished summer assignment for AP history, and less than a week before school starts.


	10. Masks

Masks, masks, masks are fun! I hate the game Majora's Mask, but I love the masks! I was reading a translation of the MM manga, which inspired me to write something about...MASKS!

I made up a holiday in Dragon City. I call it "The Festival of Masks," or "Masquerade," I just love that word. I love the Phantom of the Opera song "Masquerade" as well! Anyway, this holiday is like a cross between Valentine's Day, New Years and Mardi Gras! But everybody wears masks!

I own The Festival of Masks, but not the show or characters!

---

**Masquerade**

It was a tradition, buy a mystery mask and wear it to the festival. If you found the person with a matching mask, you had to spend the rest of the day together. Children loved the holiday, teenagers secretly adored it, and adults tolerated it. The mystery mask system was aimed more towards children who wanted new playmates and teenagers who harbored thoughts of fate bringing them together with their crushes.

"Children, do you know why we wear these masks?" For a quiet man, Conner could really get someone's attention. A group of children and adolescents, those between the ages of three and nineteen gathered at the Penn Stables to hear the tale from Dragon City's greatest story teller. It was a well known legend, but Conner Penn's words really brought the tale to life, dancing before your eyes in a parade of archaic pictures and spidery symbols.

At the prompt of a young boy, Conner continued, "Long ago, this was the day when the gods played at the wheel of fate; the wheel that brought two people together, or tore others apart, the wheel that could begin a new life, or end thousands. People believed that masks had powers beyond that of hiding your face. They believed that the mask could hide your soul as well. If the cruel gods, who cared only for gambling and nothing for human lives could not find their souls, they could not be used as betting chips."

Inside the stables, fourteen year old Artha sat next to Beau. Conner didn't know of this hiding place, or how Artha was making a mess of his festival clothing, but that didn't matter. He was busy and Artha wanted the company of the black and gold dragon. Said dragon sniffed at the box in Artha's hands, shaking the dark-haired boy out of his reverie. He muttered vaguely before beginning to unwrap the box, "Why should I even bother? I haven't found anyone with a matching mask since I was six!" Eight years ago, Artha's mask matched that of his friend, Parmon Sean's. They'd been best friends ever since. He slipped the ribbon off and proceeded to open the plain white box.

Artha paused with the lid halfway open, he could hear his father telling the story outside and quietly spoke the same words to Beau. The dragon looked at him quizzically as Artha closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, still mumbling the story.

"Eventually, humans decided to play their own wheel of fate. New masks were distributed based on chance and fortune. Sometimes, the mask had a match, sometimes they didn't. Those with the matching masks were drawn to each other, they were to spend the day together and reveal their faces at the end of the festival. Most became friends, some lovers. None of those with matching masks ever became sworn enemies."

Artha opened his eyes and looked at Beau with a grin, "That's my favorite part: these people believe the legend so much that they automatically become friends. But that's only if their lucky enough to get a matching mask!" He closed the box and patted Beau on the nose, "I haven't had a match since I met Parm."

Outside, Conner's story continued, "The greedy gods were angered by this. The fate was their game, and the humans had no right in playing it. That was when the Magna Draconas came. They defeated the avaricious gods and allowed the people to continue with this tradition, the Magna Draconas assured the people that the holiday should be kept with light-hearted intentions and festivities instead of the desire to hide themselves."

Inside, Artha didn't care. He was staring at the simple box in his hands. In the past four years, he had felt _something_. He wasn't sure what, but it was a pull. A simple tug at his heart, telling him to go somewhere else. The pull was weak and his father's order of not wandering off was strong, so Artha didn't know what was at the end of that pull.

The story ended and the listeners scattered, children to play games and youths to search for those that wore identical masks. Artha's fingers still hovered over the edge of the box, causing Beau to snort in indignation and nudge the lid up. Inside was one of the more elegant masks Artha had seen.

Not to say that any expenses were spared on any of the masks, but some were more beautiful than others. This was a mask styled like a Pack-Class dragon's face. The thin black line of the dragon's jaw was painted into a graceful frown, and the pale blue glass eyes stared back at him eerily. Dark purple surrounded the eyes, fading to a lighter purple as it spread outward. Artha gaped at the stylish mask for a second before sliding over his face.

The mask covered his features completely, even his hair in the back. Beau snorted discontentedly, seeing soulless, pale blue eyes instead of the deep sapphires of the future Dragon Booster. The humans' legend had some truth to it after all, the eyes are the windows to the soul, and the sophisticated masks hid the eyes from all those who might try and look into a human's soul. Beau thought it was all nonsense. If those with matching masks were to be soul mates, should they be able to _see _the soul of their mate?

Humans just didn't get it.

At the Dragon Eye's compound, Cain and Rancyd were prancing around in the most ridiculous masks (orange dragon and brown dragon respectively). Moordryd spared them a long-suffering glance before turning to his own box. He briefly considered opening it in front of his underlings, but squashed that idea immediately. Tucking the box under his arm, the white-haired teen slipped off to the stables to sit next to Decepshun.

Moordryd muttered a greeting to the dragon before tugging his box open, inside lay an elegant purple dragon mask. He gasped softly and even Decepshun made a sound of surprise and approval. The rider looked up to his dragon and spoke softly, "What do you think, should I go for it?" At the dragon's rapid nodding, Moordryd slipped the mask over his face.

---

Fin!

What, you expected me to let them meet up? Ch-yeah. Right.

Ah...That whole fic sounded OH so much cooler in my mind...I feel like I rambled on and on about that legend...Whatever, I sort of like it. All I could imagine while writing this was Artha and Moordryd trying on Masks from Majora's Mask. I think it ended up something like this...**SURPRISE OMAKE**!

---

Artha lifted the strange wooden mask out of a box. It was round with leaves at the top, and it had orange eyes and a strange, round mouth. He stared at the matching instrument, a set of wooden horns, with confusion before glancing over at his boyfriend's find. Moordryd pulled an equally strange mask out of the same box, this one was made of pale brown stone with white tufts of hair and black eyes. There seemed to be a matching set of drums as well.

Lance had found this box stashed away in a dusty corner of Penn Stables along with several other old crates and bins, but he had long since been scared away by an ugly mask of a tan woman with pink hair and large, puckered lips. That left Artha and the recently smuggled in Moordryd to fish through the box for anything cool. So far, they had found the three aforementioned masks, plus a pale blue fish-like mask with a fish-bone shaped guitar, a plain gray stone mask, a creepy mask of someone with blue hair, and a yellow mask with pointed ears and slanted eyes.

Moordryd snickered as Artha held up a pig-mask to his face and snorted before digging out another mask. This one was...A hat? With bunny ears? The white-haired teen tossed it aside. Artha caught it expertly and placed it on Moordryd's head, much to his chagrin.

After tearing off the hood, Moordryd dug out a heart-shaped mask with eerie eyes and spikes pointing out of the sides. He stared at it for a moment before tossing it aside and staring at the mask Artha held. It was white with red and blue markings around the eyes and on the forehead. Artha gave a noncommittal grunt before tossing it aside to land with the heart-shaped mask.

Impatience getting the better of him, Moordryd tipped the box over, spilling out a dozen more masks. Boring, lame, creepy, Moordryd sifted through them and tossed them aside mercilessly. His hand paused over a mask that he had dubbed "quaint." It was a simple, pale silver mask, nothing special or eye popping about it. The mask sitting underneath it was bright and golden with pale gold tufts sticking out of the sides.

Artha smiled and picked up the gold mask, "A Sun Mask for my sunshine." He placed the mask on a stunned Moordryd's face. The newly masked youth smiled behind the disguise, "Fine," He lifted the pale mask, "A Moon Mask for...You" He finished lamely, setting the mask on Artha's face.

---

Omake: Fin.

If you don't get it, that's ok. If you do, yeah, yeah...I know Anju and Kafei combine their masks to make the Couple's Mask. That scene was just to cute to pass up, though. I can't quite remember what the Sun and Moon Masks look like anyway, so I BSed it. Deal with it, Majora fans.

**Now then,** **I tried to name some of the better known masks, can you name them all? For the winner, I'll write a one-shot! This one-shot will be dedicated to the winner and will follow any prompt the winner desires. Keep in mind that I just managed to convince people that I'm not a raging pervert, so no lemons.**

Remember, I mentioned **11 Masks** not including the Sun and Moon Masks. Whoever gets the most right wins! You don't HAVE to name the instruments, but you can if you want. If anyone misses the last two before the Sun and Moon, I'm going to cry.


	11. Acceptance Part 1

I'm tired, confused, and listening to the Maroon 5 acoustic CD. I don't listen to that unless I'm really out of it. In the mood I'm in right now, I could write SUPER-angst. However, I need fluff and joy. So I wrote this half of a two-parter. I'll write the angsty bit later.

I own my own misery, angst, and denial.

---

**Acceptance Part 1**

Moordryd was slightly uncomfortable.

Sure, he was wrapped up cozily in Artha's arms and a warm blanket while watching a movie (a lost fish? Moordryd vowed to pay attention to movies from now on, he was completely lost). Artha had been massaging his biceps slowly in an attempt to relax him for the better part of an hour, but to no avail. Moordryd's back was stiff as a board and his hands clenched and unclenched under the blanket.

Why? Because Lance was sitting on the couch right behind them.

To his credit, the boy hadn't freaked out. However, he was also playing a video game, sparing the occasional glance to the screen. Moordryd wasn't even sure that the mini-brat knew that he and Artha were there.

The movie ended and Artha complained about not even getting to _hear_ the full joke. Naturally, Moordryd had no idea what he was talking about so he simply nodded in mute agreement.

"Alright, Lance. Bedtime!" Artha tugged at his brother's foot and made shooing motions. The younger Penn groaned loudly and tossed his game onto the couch before padding off down the hallway to his room with a mumble of "goodnight."

Finally, Moordryd slumped back against Artha's chest. He felt rather than heard the other's chuckle and comment about how he needed to loosen up.

"My brother likes you for some reason, he won't judge you like others would." Artha kissed the back of Moordryd's neck gently. Moordryd responded by turning in Artha's arms and leaning his head against his shoulder. A sudden interruption made Moordryd jump out of his skin.

"Figures, the second I walk away you two start cuddling!" Lance stood at the end of the couch with his arms crossed and a mock-annoyed expression on his face, "I forgot my game." He offered as a way of explanation, making a move to grab the toy before Artha beat him to it.

"Bed is for sleeping, not for playing games!" He ignored Moordryd's quiet snort and held the controller out of Lance's reach, "You have school tomorrow, so go to bed!"

Lance groaned again before muttering a dejected "'kay." He leaned forward and pecked Artha lightly on the cheek, "Night, bro."

Moordryd nearly yelped in surprise when Lance placed a hand on his shoulder to balance himself and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek as well, "Night, Moordryd."

Moordryd looked away, a blush staining his cheeks and muttered a quiet, "Yeah, whatever...Night, mini-brat" as Artha cheerfully bade his brother sweet dreams.

When Lance was out of earshot, Artha prodded Moordryd gently in the ribs, "See, he likes you!"

Moordryd only scooped up the next DVD from the pile on the floor and popped it into the player, determined to stay focused on the "3 Ninjas."

---

(...This plan fell through when Artha decided that '80s kids movies were good movies to make out to.)

Part 1: Fin.

**I'm super pissed, exhausted, and getting knee surgery next Wednesday, so give me reviews and wish me luck!**

I want to take the last chapter (Masks), walk it out into the woods, and shoot it. It's more rabid and disgusting than Old Yeller, However, the challenge still stands! Whoever can name the most masks of those that I mentioned gets to give me a fic prompt and I will write a fic over 1000 words for it! No lemon.


	12. Paradise

YO! Word up, homies! DJ K-DIZZLE IS BACK IN BUSINESS! I've bounced back from surgery and I'm well on the way to recovery! I was had ACL reconstruction done, in case anyone was wondering. Don't ask me what it is, I've had to explain it to WAY too many airheads in the last week.

So, remember how I was saying stuff about drowning in angst last installment? Well, narcotics, caffeine, the upcoming homecoming, and a little unwanted (but good) matchmaking has erased all that angst! I was going to write the angsty second half to "Acceptance," but screw it. I don't wanna!

I own nothing, not even a can of olives. I don't know why I'd WANT olives, but I don't own any.

---

**Paradise**

Artha scanned the room. New bed, new desk, new dresser, new loveseat, and a flat screen television hung on the wall in front of it. There was also a new clock sitting on the desk, but the old clock remained firmly bolted to the wall. There was just no getting rid of that thing.

The bed was soft and mercifully free of the soul-eating springs. It was covered by blankets of sable and indigo, the only colors that they could agree on, and had thick, fluffy pillows. The loveseat was also black, and was adorned with purple-blue cushions. The desk, dresser, and chairs were black with deep blue trim, and the walls had a fresh coating of dark blue paint.

"Paradise..." A soft mumble from Artha's side claimed, and Artha agreed. The new paint, furniture, running water, and locked door made the place comfortable and safe.

Moordryd, however, is what made it Paradise.

Artha buried his face into Moordryd's hair, "It always has been."

---

Fin.

MAN THAT WAS SHORT!

Paragraph 1: 54 words

Paragraph 2: 68 words

The Rest: 44 words

Total: 220 words

I think, I could have miscounted.

Whatever. Not QUITE a drabble, but still short. Sorry, you'll have to deal with it for now. Again, this was a shameless plug to "Of Ideals and Bedsprings." I'm going to miss those demon springs, they attacked Artha's rear whenever I was angry.

Now on to more pressing matters, remember the omake and challenge from "Masks"? I still want to kill that chapter, it really didn't turn out like I wanted. Anyway, someone got all the masks right!

In order of appearance:

Deku Mask with Deku Horns  
Goron Mask with Goron Drums  
Great Fairy Mask  
Zora Mask with Mikau's Guitar  
Stone Mask  
Kafei's Mask  
Keaton Mask  
Mask of Scents  
Bunny Hood  
Majora's Mask  
Fierce Deity (Oni) Mask

And the winner is...drum roll please, **KORIL DRAGONIC**! The only one who guessed, which made me sort of sad. Either people don't care or they just don't play good video games. Scratch that, they don't play games from good series. I still hate Majora's Mask, so I've been playing Kingdom Hearts 2 since I had my surgery on the 27th. Playing video games while on Vicodin is reeeeally cool. I've finished with most of my goofing off and I've almost got that Proud Mode file finished...

But I digress. **Koril Dragonic** (cool name, by the way) **wins...one free 1000 word one shot. **Congratulations, I'd throw confetti and streamers but I don't have any. **You give me a topic and I'll write...1000 words about it. It has to be ArthaMoordryd and no lemon**. As I've said before, I've just convinced the world that I'm not a raging pervert. I'd like to keep things that way.

1000 words, what am I getting myself into? Oi vey.


	13. Practicality

I adore my boyfriend, he's a real sweetheart. He always wants to give me a hug, always wants to help me with whatever I'm doing, and he always wants to hold my hand. Even when it's bitterly, freezing cold at our homecoming game. It's very cute, but jeez! I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I let my left hand grow numb while I tried to salvage my right hand by keeping it in my coat pocket. He even wanted to hold hands while we were sitting on the cold, hard ground since some ugly old bat well past her midlife crisis stared at us (me, my boo, and four other friends) until we all left under the excuse of going to talk to our super awesome drama teacher. Then, she took our seats. Which sucked, since they had a good view of the field and were just starting to get warm.

But I digress. He's sweet, and holding hands is sweet...But I seriously doubt the practicality of holding hands when it's 35 degrees outside. That was the inspiration for this installment.

I own nothing.

---

**Practicality**

Winter in Dragon City was never pleasant. The Sun City residents complained about the snow on the tracks while the people living in the lower regions, especially right below Sun City, had to deal with the slush that fell from above. The gray-ish mush was flecked with pebbles, shrapnel, and dragons' messy business. It was even more unpleasant if it hit you in the face and dripped down your back into your shorts, but that's another story.

While dodging the slush was easy if you heard it first, it was made harder by someone attached to your hand trying to move the other way. Kitt and Parm were learning this the hard way. The failed attempts at dodging the snow had left their gloves soaking wet, so they had stuffed them in their pockets a while back. Unfortunately, this left their cold and damp fingers exposed to the air. While Parm was secretly calculating how long it would take to get to the coffee house they were heading towards against how long it would take for frostbite to set in, Kitt was trying to tell Parm to let her hand go with a subtle glare and an effort at telepathy.

A vague whisper and a poorly concealed chuckle alerted both to the fact that Artha and Moordryd found their plight very amusing. Kitt cast a glare over her shoulder at the couple and noted that _they _weren't holding hands. She also noted that they could easily jump aside and dodge the slush, while another pile dropped on hers and Parm's joined hands yet again.

There was more ill-concealed laughter, which caused Kitt to whip around and glare at them. Unfortunately, Kitt had lost the feeling in her fingers and forgotten that her and Parm were still holding hands, so Parm was whipped around as well. The blue-haired girl scowled darkly and spoke over Parm's indignant squawk, "WHAT, exactly, is so funny?"

Moordryd smirked, "Besides the fact that egg-head is sitting in a pile of slush and dragon crap?" Artha flicked him on the arm lightly, a gesture that went unnoticed thanks to a thick winter coat, and continued, "Well, you guys keep getting slushed...and you're still holding hands."

Kitt's scowl deepened, "Some couple actually do things like that, you know, holding hands." She tugged at Parm's hand in an attempt to pull him up, but slipped and landed on him instead.

Identical smirks spread across Artha's and Moordryd's faces, and Moordryd drawled out casually, "Yes, but some couples don't sit in the slush and let their shorts get all wet." The two boys cheerfully linked arms and strode into the Dragbucks, leaving Parm and Kitt to wallow in the slush.

---

Fin.

Okay, a personally challenge of mine was to type the word "slush" as many times as possibly. I hate slush. So let's count!

...I used the word "slush" 7 times. Hooray.

As for KittParm? Uh...If I actually LIKED Kitt, I'd pair her with Parm. As it is, I just needed someone for her to get slushed with.

That 1000 word one-shot (Displays of affection while racing) is coming! I swear! I just need some time! And a calculator to keep track on!

Eh, I'm going to end this here and try and work on OS, since I kind of abandoned it in a box on the street corner. I'm coming, baby!

Review, please!


	14. Better Off

Well, I was gonna sit and wait things out a bit...See if anybody actually got desperate enough to POST THEIR OWN AxM fic...

**(ZOMGS!SUBLIMINMESSAGING!!GNIGASSEMNIMILBUS!ZGMOZ!)**

...Unfortunately, it didn't happen. But it SHOULD! (stands threateningly with an uzi and a lightsaber) Shouldn't it?

I own nothing...

---

**Better Off**

To be honest, Artha missed her a little. The playful elbow to the ribs, the soft touches when no one was looking, and the extreme competitiveness that topped it all off. She was slender and beautiful, and her emerald eyes could light up a room. Hell, one could even argue that Artha missed the smell of her _hair_.

Artha mused that falling in love with Kitt Wann was potentially the best thing that had ever happened to Artha in the sixteen years he had lived.

Some people didn't believe it (Pyrrah, for one, screamed her denial to the heavens). Some were baffled by it (Phistus had blinked and asked "Weren't they dating already?"). A few made the announcement public (Vociferous had broadcasted it all through town, just to piss them off). Several teased them (Wulf and his random crewmate made various hand gestured to each other and laughed). Others...Just didn't care (Khatah walked away before he was even told).

They were happy, they were healthy, and, worst of all, they were competitive. Always competing to beat each other in _something_. This is possibly why they didn't date for more than a month. Kitt muttered the dreaded "Let's just be friends" line and that was that.

A week later at his seventeenth birthday party, which both Kitt and Pyrrah were mysteriously absent from, Artha was sulking. Sulking and drinking, as it would be. Kitt had left him, and he was pissed. So like a stupid little boy, he thought some hard liquor could make his life easier for a while.

Now this is the point of the story where I, the author(ess) tell you that alcohol is bad for you. It will kill your liver and brain. It will deform your babies. It will also make you throw up. However, as long as I get your reviews, I don't really care how you choose to screw up your life. I shall continue now.

So when Artha woke up in a run-down shack in Old City with a spring getting dangerously close to raping his bum, he decided that it was rather foolish of him to get drunk. With this comforting thought in mind, Artha avoided the spring and snuggled up against the warm body next to him and went back to sleep.

Or he tried.

Realization that there was indeed a warm body next to him snapped Artha out of his drunken stupor faster than...Something really fast. Warily, Artha glanced over to his left to see...Moordryd Paynn? Speaking of pain...Artha shifted slightly, and regretted it severely. His subconscious snickered at him and muttered something about "being on bottom" before Artha squashed it like a small insect. His subconscious then went on to squeal its death throes and hiss at the too-close-for-comfort bedspring.

Still doubting the situation, Artha prodded Moordryd's shoulder. His pale shoulder...His pale, sexy shoulder...His pale, sexy...In response, Moordryd rolled on to his side and pulled Artha into an embrace. The next few words whispered into Artha's ear by the white-haired teen made Artha blush several shades of red.

The beat-faced teen took a moment to review the facts as his bedmate propped himself up on his elbows and smirked.

One: He had gotten drunk last night

Two: He had woken up naked in a bed somewhere unfamiliar

Three: His arch-nemesis was in bed with him, naked as well

Four: That mattress spring was still trying to rape him

Five: Moordryd was doing something amazing with his tongue

Artha mused that waking up in bed with Moordryd Paynn was potentially the best thing that had ever happened to him in the seventeen years that he had lived.

---

Fin.

Yeah...People are probably going "ZOMGZWTFBBQ!?!?!1111!!11one!!eleven!!!11!" right now.

Truth is, I used to be a fan of ArthaxKitt. Then, I saw "Pride of the Hero" and the homosexual side of my brain shot the heterosexual side of my brain with tranquilizers...Manny, many, many tranquilizers.

I was checking out a lot of other girls that week...

So, it was supposed to be all dramatic and stuff at the start. But I typed it while reading VG Cats (shameless plug). So, naturally, my warped sense of humor reared it's deformed head.

As for the Not-So-Public-Service-Announcement? Yeah. You people probably hate me for not updating in forever and I hate you for not taking some initiative and writing something yourself.

So review already and I might like you.

P.S. PyrrahxKitt? I must be on drugs.


	15. If I Told You

So...I'm sort of in a bad mood. I watched Star Wars episode 3 again, and lamented over the death of Grievous. Then I lamented over Anakin killing younglings.

ANI KILLS BABIES!!!!!

...Watching that movie always puts me in a bit of a bad mood. I should have watched Clone Wars instead! Grievous is better there!

So...I thought reading RoyxEd would put me in a better mood, but it didn't. I decided to write something humorous in hopes of feeling less like blowing up the world. My friends and I play games similar to the one I have Artha and Moordryd playing here: "If I Told You..." My drama teacher taught me how to play "Who Would you Rather Punch?" Fun times...Eh, not really important note: Artha and Moordryd are 2 high school sophomores here...Not dating (yet), just friends. AU. It doesn't make much of a difference, though.

I own nothing.

---

**"If I Told You..." **

"If I told you that Cain wants in my pants, what would you say?"

Artha sat up abruptly, "He does?"

Moordryd smirked and took advantage of his friend's shock to pistol-whip him into oblivion, "Not that I know of, no." He laughed as Artha gritted his teeth and waited to respawn.

"If I told you I eat babies, would you be scared away?" Artha asked quickly before squaring his shoulders and searching for Moordryd. The white-haired teen scowled and smacked him in the back of the head with his controller, "No, but I'd tell you to stop screen watching!" He tossed a grenade at Artha and asked, "If I told you I filled all your shoes with limburger, how would you try and get back at me?"

The dark-haired one let out a scream of frustration as he exploded before replying, "I'd replace all your Boca burgers with the school's mystery meat." Moordryd's eyes widened at the thought of accidentally betraying his vegan ways, "If I told you I was about to frag you, what would you do?"

Moordryd blinked, just barely over the shock of Artha threatening his veganism, before he realized that Artha did indeed frag him. Instead of panicking (he was way ahead in kills), Moordryd smirked, "I'd slug you in the arm." Artha tossed his controller aside and dove over the back of the couch as Moordryd raised his fist to do so. Choosing not to punch him, Moordryd took advantage of his controller-less friend and stuck another plasma grenade on him, "If I told you I just stuck a grenade to your stomach, what would you say?" Artha scowled as Moordryd jumped to higher ground and he blew up, "I'd say 'I'm gonna kill you!'"

He flung himself over the sofa and tackled Moordryd, whose controller went flying and hit a lamp. The wrestling match ended as quick as it began, with Moordryd sitting cross-legged on Artha's back. The loser groaned pathetically, "If I told you that you weigh more than you look, what would you say?"

Artha yelped as he was pulled into a half-nelson, "I'd say you better shut—UP!" Moordryd shouted out the last part in surprise as his friend managed to slip out of his shoddy attempt at a wresting move and gain the advantage. Artha somehow flipped Moordryd, pinned his arms over his head, and dug a knee into his stomach. Both boys' hair was disheveled, their cheeks were flushed, and Moordryd realized too late how close their faces were. Artha was panting and grinning, his breath (which smelled of corn chips and salsa) was brushing gently across his friend's increasingly red face. Slowly, the dark-haired youth's smile faded, and his eyes grew thoughtful.

Both were silent for a moment before Moordryd licked his lips and plucked up the courage to ask the next question, "If...If I kissed you right now, what would you do?"

Artha swallowed hard and answered, "I'd...I'd probably kiss you back." He slid a cocky smirk onto his face and recovered, "Care to test that?"

Moordryd smirked as well, "Sure..." He craned his neck up to kiss Artha, who did indeed kiss back.

---

"And as Artha released Moordryd's wrists and slid his arms near the white-haired teen head for balance, Moordryd reached out and pressed a button on his controller, effectively sniping Artha for the last kill of the game."

Yeah, that part didn't fit with the rest of the story, but it demanded to be written. The boys are playing Halo (more than likely it was Halo 2), which I am NOTORIOUSLY bad at. My boyfriend's probably worse, though...The only things he's really beat me at are endurance running and amount of manga owned.

Dangit, I _MISS _being able to wrestle with my friends! Now, there's this awkward _squish_ whenever I pull someone into a headlock. There was no shallow end of the gene pool for me to crawl out of, I was always cursed to have big boobs. It's funny to watch head-locked guys blush, though...

Why can't I be seven anymore?

Stupid guys...They can still wrestle! No one complains when they eat corn chips and sasla either!

R&R, please. Feed the starving artist!

...Seriously, that sandwich I ate was crap!


	16. GreenEyed Monster

I SHOULD be writing more...But...My friends and I spend more time over at each other's houses than we do our own, and it's awkward writing while my home girls are eating ginger snaps and playing Starfox 64, respectively.

Anyway...I was thinking about a future conflict in Obedience School, then I ate a cookie. A few days later, I thought this up. I haven't watched Dragon Booster in weeks, and I keep missing/sleeping through/choosing something else in favor of it.

I own nothing.

---

**Green-Eyed Monster**

Rivett wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. In the grime of mid-city, beneath a bridge that trembled under the weight of hundreds of dragons, a couple was entangled in the shadows. Slender fingers trailed through black hair while tanned hands fisted desperately in the lapels of a thick racing jacket. Quiet sobs racked the shorter teen's body and echoed through the alley. The taller rubbed at his partner's back soothingly and whispered quiet, reassuring words.

The blond was about to back away slowly and leave these two to their privacy when the taller one leaned forward to press a kiss upon the other's raven locks. White hair tumbled over his shoulder and obscured both faces a second too late. The Mechanist ducked his head, a flush of embarrassment and jealousy taking over his fair features, and slid behind an overflowing dumpster.

Moordryd Paynn and...Artha Penn? Red eyes turned green with envy when the distinct sounds of lip-locking reached his ears. To Rivett, the sound of the two boys pulling apart was like a suction cup being ripped off glass. Moordryd's near silent whispers rang loud and clear in Rivett's mind, the noise pollution around him dieing down to a low buzz.

"Everything will be fine..." Moordryd rubbed delicately at the smaller one's shoulders.

Rivett flinched when Artha muttered a pathetic whine of "Promise?" What sickened him even more was Moordryd's smooth reply of "I promise!"

What had happened to Moordryd Paynn? The irate and threatening young man whose fair shin and bleached-bone hair had aroused Rivett was gone, replaced by this simpering little pansy! Where was the man who had willingly given up his body to the Mechanist for a chance to get ahead, even in just one race?

To Rivett, there was only lust. A body that you could posses, control, and destroy. Love was something that could not be held or sold, so therefore, it did not exist to him. This display of affection was not only sickening, but also confusing.

As he activated his shadow gear, and chill ran up Rivet's spine. He purposely knocked over a dented trashcan in his escape, causing Moordryd to shove Artha behind him and call out "Who's there!?" in alarm.

Something like this, gentle, tender, warm, something like this wasn't for him. Rivett left silently, allowing Artha to clutch insistently at his partner's sleeve and whisper that "It was nothing."

"The Incident" (as it would be forever known in Rivett's mind), changed his views of Moordryd Paynn. He thought he had found a true companion in the young racer: cold, cruel, and...Experimental.

Sardonically, Rivett wondered when Artha would be exposed to the more adventurous side of the Paynn heir' libido.

---

End.

XD Yes, the real reason why Rivett cut off the supply to Moordryd's gear was because Moordryd didn't want to have wild buttsecks with Rivett anymore. Sorry, that's what I thought, at least. I've been reading too much Eyeshield 21 yaoi...

I like HiruSena...

Ahem, so, yeah. Rivett is pushed forcibly into the picture! Deal with it, bitches. You all know you love the angst and the (semi)love triangle! Also, the idea of seme-Artha has worn itself out and he's taking on his rightful role of the pansy uke. Again, deal with it, bitches. As for Rivett's last comment there...I imagine Moordryd as the slightly devious sexual fanatic with all sorta of...Toys. XD

Now then, since the drama is thick enough to be cut with a knife...**OMAKE**!!!!

---

The trash bin forgotten, the couple leaned back against the jagged steel wall that they had previously occupied, the metal still warm from their body heat. Moments like this were sad, but still perfect. Any moment when they could be in each other's arms was perfect.

Moordryd pressed his lips against Artha's again, knowing that the salty taste of tears still hung on his lover's lips. The elder Penn snuggled blissfully into his partner's warmth, and mumbled something against his chest. Running his fingers through Artha's short hair, Moordryd hummed questioningly.

"I said: Why did Kitt have to eat the last of the cereal?" Artha's shoulders shook mournfully and Moordryd patted his back comfortingly, "I don't know...Let's go buy some more Lucky Charms, okay?"

The shorter boy smiled and nodded joyfully. Moordryd gave a bemused sigh, all was well in the world again.

---

End Omake.

Yesh, I deserve to be shot. HAVING NO CEREAL IS A SAD THING!!!


	17. Flying For Dummies

Yep. Been dead. What can I say, no inspiration. I don't care if you don't like my excuse. I love it dearly and I feed it and groom it and take it for walks everyday. It doesn't shed on my couch either.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. You should know this by now.

---

**Flying For Dummies**

"It's not that hard, you know. It's all in how the dragon channels the energy." Artha, in his armor, peered nonchalantly over the edge of a sheer cliff in the uninhabited levels of Dragon City. Moordryd, however, was not so calm. He was pressed against Decepshun's flank, trembling slightly. As he was in his armor as well, he looked rather foolish.

"I don't care how _hard _it is! I'm more concerned with how _idiotic _it is! What in the world possessed you to jump off a cliff in the first place, Penn?" Moordryd pointed an accusing finger at his rival, but his arm quickly dropped when Artha merely grunted "You." There was an awkward pause, and then "Oh...Right." from Moordryd.

Artha swung himself up into Beau's saddle, motioning for Moordryd to copy him. Moordryd hesitated for a moment before climbing gracefully into his dragon's saddle. Artha gave him a brief, reassuring smile, "All in how the energy is channeled." With that advice, he urged the dragon of legend forward and leapt over the cliff edge. Moordryd steeled himself before creeping to the edge and glancing down. He and Decepshun both jolted back immediately, though, as Artha and Beau came zooming up with a whoop and roar of glee respectively.

The Paynn heir watched, dumbstruck, as Penn and his dragon twisted and maneuvered through the air gracefully. The did dives, loops, and glides that even the highest grade aero gear would not be able to imitate. He felt a small twinge of jealously, which soon grew into full-blown irritation at Penn's showing off. That irritation crushed his fear.

Moordryd jerked violently on Decepshun's controls, sending her charging forward off the cliff as well.

---

Someone's gonna wanna shoot me for this, but I decided that it was just better to leave it like that. I originally had this whole air ballet planned out, but...It seemed forced and awkward.

On a happier note: I watched Battle for the Ages and Damaged Goods on youtube today. IF YOU TELL ME THAT MOORDRYD/ARTHA ISN'T CANON IN THOSE TWO EPISODES, I WILL HIT YOU WITH A WAFFLE IRON!!!!!!!!

Seriously. At the end of Damaged Goods, I pictured Artha looking up and going "Hey...Moordryd? Weren't we bitter enemies like...Two episodes ago?"

On a sadder note: I've nearly killed my right shift key. I have to hold it down super hard for it to work. It is truly a bummer.

**Don't worry, everyone. I have most of the next chapter of Obedience School typed up, and a few more of these things waiting in the wings.**

**Review, please!**


	18. That Shirt

HAH! I finally got a Cherubi on Pokemon Diamond! AND IT'S FROM GERMANY!!!! I love the GTS. My friend traded me all the first, second, and third generation starter pokemon too, which is awesome, as well as a bagon and this really badass level 1 Dratini! WHOO! I just caught a Drowzee!

I'm a pokemon nerd:B

**On a more story-related note...I'm going to start posting these things on my totally new, totally empty livejournal. Is there a Dragon Booster community there?**

I own nothing. This is in the same universe as "If I Told You," with Moordryd and Artha in the awkward "are we friends or are we dating?" stage of the relationship. I hated that stage. It lasted until my boyfriend and I broke up...

---

**That Shirt**

A tight scowl in place, Artha began another flurry of jabs. His efforts were largely ineffective, as Moordryd was dodging every single blow. He clutched the purple-encased wiimote and the nunchuk attachment close to his body and leaned back and forth in time with Artha's futile punches. When Artha stopped to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead, Moordryd took his chance and lashed out with a punch. Artha was down for the count before he even realized he was hit.

Resisting the urge to throw his own wiimote and nunchuk, Artha growled in frustration. That was the TENTH TIME Moordryd had won like that! He stomped his foot childishly, "That is so CHEAP!"

Moordryd placed his controllers on the coffee table gently, "Not cheap, just smart." He smirked widely. While these tactics had been ferociously boring, Moordryd knew that they would definitely get a rise out of Artha.

And what a rise he got.

Forgetting how expensive the white controllers were, Artha flung them onto the couch and lunged at Moordryd. The other, having fully expected this, caught his would-be attacker. What Moordryd didn't expect was for Artha to pull the age-old cheap hockey trick. The white-haired teen yelped in surprise as he felt the hem of his slim-fit shirt being pulled up and over his eyes. The surprise tactic worked, and Artha was released.

The black-haired teen hadn't expected his trick to work, and was at somewhat of a loss of what to do now that Moordryd was stumbling around comically with a t.A.T.u. shirt tugged over his face. When the blinded one tripped over a pair of Artha's Vans and landed on the couch, still trapped by his own t-shirt, Artha wasn't sure whether to go help him, or laugh.

He decided on both, making no attempt to suppress his mirth as he reached forward to grab at Moordryd's shirt. After an awkward struggle, Moordryd was freed.

But...Not quite in the way he planned.

The rumpled gray t-shirt slipped over Moordryd's head and was tugged halfway down his arms before Artha realized that he was pulling the wrong way. White hair was sticking out of place and eyeliner was smudged around shock-widened eyes. Artha mirrored the expression before abruptly letting go of the t-shirt and turning away with a blush.

Recovering his composure, Moordryd slipped the shirt off his arms and proceeded with the task of turning it right-side-out, all while grumbling about how wrinkled it was. He pretended not to notice when Artha peeked, but was barely able to suppress a blush when he felt the other boy's gaze travel down his neck, chest, and belly to rest on the studded white belt that was practically unnecessary for holding up the too-tight, stonewashed, and stylishly-ripped jeans that Moordryd insisted on wearing. Decided against donning his shirt for the moment, Moordryd stood and sauntered over to the not-quite-discreetly staring boy.

When he noticed Moordryd standing, Artha snapped his neck around fast enough to give anyone whiplash. His shoulders tensed up as Moordryd draped a long, _bare _arm about them.

"Eyes to yourself, _stud_." Moordryd practically purred into his...boyfriend's (?) ear, earning shiver from Artha. Swallowing hard, the recipient of the embrace tried not to move. (Moordryd could be very fickle, lashing out at Artha if he attempted something with less-than-pure intentions) Artha's back became painfully rigid as Moordryd slipped his arms lower, encircling his waist and sliding under his layered shirts to tug lightly at the belt loops of a baggy pair of pants.

When Moordryd smirked against the back of his neck, pressing a teasing kiss there, Artha lost it.

---

End. I'll leave you all to think of what happens next.

Here's a hint: Two teenage boys, one shirtless. XD (I think I know what's _happening_!!!!)

So...Yeah...I guess t.A.T.u. isn't REALLY emo music, but it's what I was listening to at the time. Ya Solsha S Uma, to be exact.

Time for another small look into the (admittedly disorienting) brain of the Cheeseburger! I planned out this chapter on my math homework, and this is how I outlined it:  
A/M  
Wii Boxing  
Dodge-Dodge-Punch  
"CHEAP!"  
Hockey-Shirt-Pull  
Stuck  
Funny  
Asterisk (Asterisk is an inside joke, just sort of a code between my friends and I for anything sex-related.)

And I managed to make some sense of that nonsense.

I am **BAD** at Wii boxing. I'm usually flailing my arms like crazy, and my friends are being cheap like Moordryd...

**Review, plz! lol!**


End file.
